Velveteen vs. The Multiverse

by Seanan McGuire

  Yelena paled, involuntary yellow and green sparks bursting in the air around her. She looked toward Mechamation. Mechamation looked away.

  Eventually, she started shouting for help. But by then, it was long past the point when anyone could possibly have heard her.

  VELVETEEN

  vs.

  Legal

  CELIA MORGAN WAS ACCUSTOMED, AS Governor of Oregon, to dealing with people whose concept of “patience” had been left behind somewhere between their homes and her office door. What she wasn’t as accustomed to was dealing with those people plus super powers. Even sharing her home with her sister—Jennifer, Jory, whatever you wanted to call her; the fact that she was alive was more than enough for Celia—hadn’t prepared her for the strain of sharing her office with not one, not two, but five individuals who could easily kill her with their powers.

  For the first time, she actually understood some of the motivation behind The Super Patriots, Inc.’s incessant attempts to control the superhumans of the world. These five…no one controlled them, or perhaps they controlled themselves. Celia honestly wasn’t sure which possibility frightened her more.

  Jennifer was at home, in costume, waiting for her baby sister’s call. Celia hoped both that she would never need to make it, and that Jennifer would be able to reach her in time.

  “You can’t honestly mean that,” said Velveteen. There were dark circles under her eyes. She didn’t look like she’d slept since the men from The Super Patriots, Inc. had come and carted her wayward friend back to their offices. It had only been two days. The strain was still showing very clearly in the young anima’s face. “They have no legal right—”

  “They have every legal right,” said Celia, trying to ignore the glare from the redheaded gadgeteer, and the way the blue girl was making it snow in the corner of the office where she stood, brooding. It shouldn’t have been possible for someone who looked so much like she’d escaped from a Rankin-Bass holiday special to brood, but she was accomplishing it. The other animus—Tag, his name was Tag—just stood next Velveteen, arms crossed, looking at the governor.

  And then there was the Princess. But the less Celia dwelt on her, the better.

  “That’s bullshit,” said the blue girl.

  Contract law was one of the few places where Celia felt absolutely confident, even in the face of a group of angry superhumans. “No, it’s not. I’ve read the standard boilerplate for The Super Patriots, Inc., and based on that, it should be possible to terminate the relationship between a hero and the corporation. I’ve also read Velveteen’s child contract.” She nodded toward Velveteen, trying to remind them with that small gesture that they were in her office, in her state, and that she was one of the only allies they had in the battle that was so obviously to come. “Is there any chance that Miss, ah, Sparkle Bright would have requested a new contract following her eighteenth birthday?”

  “None,” said Velveteen. “They had her brain so fried by that point that she would probably have gone on working for them without a contract if they’d asked her to. They’re manipulating their heroes.”

  “Ah, but the contract explicitly allows for that.”

  The redhead stiffened, eyes blazing and hands clenching white-knuckled on the arms of her chair. “I do beg your pardon?” she said, in a thick London accent.

  Calmly, Celia, calmly; these people are your allies. Ah, but it was so easy to think that when they were somewhere else, wasn’t it? Or when they came to her one at a time, these people who could control seasons and make things that had never lived come alive to do their bidding? Five of them was enough to be considered a team. That was one word for a group of superhumans. The other word was “danger.”

  Keeping her voice level, Celia said, “The contract Velveteen, Jory, and presumably Sparkle Bright all signed with The Super Patriots, Inc. allows the corporation to make ‘minor and necessary adjustments’ to their psyches, with or without their awareness, in order to keep them calm and productive. Mind-control is usually illegal without explicit consent, but The Super Patriots, Inc. was able to get an exception for reasons of national security.” Calling it “an exception” was putting it mildly. The Super Patriots, Inc. had the legal right to completely mind-wipe their superhuman employees, and to rebuild their personalities from the ground up.

  “We have to get her back,” said Velveteen. “Governor Morgan, what legal grounds do we have here?”

  “Quite honestly? None. Two of you are unlicensed outside of this state, one of you is entirely unlicensed—”

  “I have diplomatic immunity,” said the blue girl, and bared her teeth in what a charitable person might have deluded themselves into calling a smile. “Want to see how much damage it lets me do before Santa puts me on the Naughty List for life?”

  The Princess didn’t say anything. She just sat there silently in her heliotrope and silver ball gown, watching Celia with sad, judgmental eyes. There was a bunny in her lap, and a falcon sat on the back of her chair. Somehow, she was the worst one of them all.

  “Victory Anna and Velveteen are technically confined to the state, but I do have the authority to send you both on out-of-state missions as needed. I can get you all to California, but honestly, you don’t have a legal leg to stand on in where The Super Patriots, Inc. are concerned. She’s still under contract with them.”

  “Still under contract…” Velveteen frowned. “Governor Morgan, the contracts we all signed were for children. They held until our eighteenth birthdays. By the time they expired, we were all well and truly mind-controlled. I was only able to resist because I was being regularly abducted by the seasonal countries.”

  “Guilty,” said the blue girl. She didn’t sound guilty.

  “If I’d been doing what The Super Patriots, Inc. wanted me to, I would have been completely under their command. Even if they had the legal right to have me mind-controlled, would a contract signed under those circumstances be legally binding?”

  Celia blinked. “No,” she said slowly. “It wouldn’t be.”

  “Well, then.” The Princess’s sweet, sugary tones were underwritten with a thin line of poison, like an apple dipped in arsenic. “It looks like we’re going to California.”

  Most regulation aimed at superhumans can be easily read from two different directions. Looked at one way, it is overly restrictive, even cruel, in its efforts to limit and curtail the freedom of an entire class of people. Very few superhumans became that way voluntarily, and even fewer can be “cured” of their powers, but all are covered by a series of laws which, if enforced to their strictest limits, can strip away liberty, independent thought, and even life itself. No other group of American citizens can be presented with the death penalty for the simple crime of existing. The law is not on the side of the superhuman.

  Looked at from the other and opposite direction, the laws which regulate superhuman activities within the United States are designed to protect the majority of American citizens from a clear and present danger, one which can arise without warning and which must, at times, be answered with an unfortunate degree of deadly force. There is no other way to stop the child whose body naturally emits fatal levels of radiation, or to control the housewife who suddenly begins transforming everyone who meets her eyes to stone. Perhaps the child could be confined in a lead-lined room, perhaps the housewife could be blinded—but is either of these alternatives any safer? Will either help the greater populace sleep at night?

  Superhumans are terrifying. Whether they are your friends, your family, or your lovers, they are more than they were meant to be, and by their very presence, they make other humans feel that they are some how less. It is only natural that, faced by such an inescapable demonstration of our place in the universe, the human race would strike back in the only way we knew. With rules, with laws, and with violence.

  Most of the crueler regulations—the ones making it legal to use mind-control, for example, the ones making it legal to strip someone’s powers with or without wr
ongdoing on their part—were originally proposed and championed by The Super Patriots, Inc.

  Make of that what you will.

  Velma “Velveteen” Martinez had crossed the border from Califor - nia into Oregon while semi-conscious, propelled by a blast of charged photons generated by her former and future best friend, code name: Sparkle Bright. Her return, sitting in the first class cabin of the Virgin Amer ica Portland/San Diego flight, was thus a bit of a step up in the world.

  There were eight seats in the first class cabin. Velveteen and Tag occupied two. Jackie and the Princess sat across from them, and Victory Anna was behind them. The other three seats were unoccupied. Gover nor Morgan was not a foolish woman. If sharing her office with the five superheroes made her uncomfortable, when superpowers ran in her family, what would it do to anyone who had to share a plane with them?

  Traveling incognito wasn’t an option. For Velveteen to legally leave Oregon, she had to be traveling on official superhuman business, which meant full costume. Jackie was actually incapable of concealing her true nature, and while Victory Anna and Tag could be inconspicuous if they really had to, the Princess was followed by flocks of birds everywhere she went, in addition to occasionally generating spontaneous glitter and musical numbers.

  The flight attendant had passed out drinks and their complimentary cheese plates before disappearing into the back of the plane. Velveteen was pretty sure they were supposed to get better service than this, but she didn’t feel like pushing the issue. Sharing a plane with five superhumans was stressful under the best of times. When one of them persisted in glowing bright blue, one was building clockwork bats, and one had somehow managed to produce a bunny and two robins after take-off, well…it was really no wonder the flight attendant wanted to be elsewhere.

  Leaning her cheek against her fist, Velveteen yawned. Tag touched her shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “Are you sure you’re up for this? Maybe it would be better if we sent Jackie and the Princess in first. You know. The ones who never broke their contracts with The Super Patriots, Inc.”

  “I’m just tired,” said Velveteen. “I’ve been tired before. Tired isn’t going to keep me from saving my best friend.”

  “Vel, you’re not just tired, okay? You’re asleep all the time. I’m starting to worry about you.”

  “Don’t.” Velveteen removed his hand from her shoulder. “This isn’t the time to worry about me. When Sparkle Bright’s home, then we can think about what else is going on.”

  On the other side of the cabin, Jackie and the Princess exchanged a look.

  “You have to deal with this,” said the Princess softly, trusting the roar of the plane’s engines to keep her from being overheard.

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Yes, you are. If you weren’t sure, you wouldn’t be looking at her like that. You have to deal with this.”

  “Why me and not you?”

  “Because, honey, this isn’t my kind of fairy tale.” The Princess sighed deeply, looking down at the bunny sleeping curled in her lap. “My fairy tales have happy endings.”

  Jackie winced and turned to look across the aisle. Velveteen, for all her protests, was asleep with her head against Tag’s shoulder. He was petting her hair, a concerned expression on his face. When he saw Jackie looking, he raised his eyebrows in question. She shook her head, gesturing for him to focus on Vel.

  She’d have to talk to him soon. But not now. Not until they had Yelena safely home.

  The plane landed on time; they had no luggage. Even Victory Anna was traveling light, carrying only her carpet bag, which she had assured them all would contain everything she needed for the fight to come.

  “I still don’t see why we couldn’t travel via magic mirror,” said Jackie, as they descended the escalator toward the level where they could catch a cab.

  “Because that could be taken as a sign of aggression and used to justify a massive superhero fight in the air over San Diego,” said Velveteen, stepping off the escalator. “Not exactly good for our ‘we’re just here to talk’ image.”

  “Nothing ever is with you,” said a vaguely familiar voice. The five of them turned to see a black-haired young woman in a skin-tight red and orange outfit standing near the luggage carts. She was holding a sign that read “VELVETEEN & PARTY.”

  “Match Girl?” said Tag, sounding bewildered.

  Her lip curled. “It’s Firecracker now, okay? I see you finally managed to sink to the level where you belonged.”

  “At least I got out.”

  “You were kicked out. Don’t try to make it sound like some big heroic choice. Oh, wait. I forgot.” Firecracker redirected her sneer at Velveteen. “You found a girlfriend as incompetent as you are. I guess that must make it easier to convince yourself.”

  “Wait,” said Velveteen. “Are you here to give us a ride or something?”

  “Oh, wow, she can read.”

  “That’s it,” said Jackie. Snow began to fall around her as she balled her hands into fists. “This is me, kicking the little match girl’s ass.”

  “Now that’s a fairy tale I can get behind,” said the Princess.

  “Hang on.” Velveteen raised a hand. Jackie and the Princess quieted, although they didn’t stop glaring, and the snow around Jackie continued to fall. “We’re here to talk to a lawyer specializing in superhuman law, and have a meeting with The Super Patriots, Inc.’s Human Resources department. Why would we be stupid enough to get into a car with you before we even got started?”

  “God, bunny-girl, I don’t know, okay?” said Firecracker. “I don’t want to be here, and I sure as shit don’t want to be driving your second- string ass around. I just know that the boss told me that if I wanted to keep my spot on the team, I would get in the car, come down to the airport, and offer you a ride to HQ, where we could all discuss this like grown adults before we went and got the lawyers involved.”

  “I don’t know—” began Velveteen.

  “I say we do it,” said Victory Anna. The other four turned to look at her. She squared her shoulders and said, “It is best to know one’s enemies. By witnessing the tactics they attempt to use against us before facing us fairly over a barrister’s desk, we will be able to deduce how much faith they have in the eventual outcome, and adjust our own tactics accordingly.”

  “You’re the new mad science girl, aren’t you?” asked Firecracker. “No one knows where you came from. I don’t know what these losers have been telling you, but you should take this opportunity to get a private meeting with HR. Get yourself affiliated with a real super team.”

  “I came by Epona’s grace from the glorious Empire of Her Majesty the Queen,” said Victory Anna, with withering politeness. “We will accompany you. But do not think for one moment that you will sway us from our righteous task.”

  Firecracker blinked at her for a moment before turning to the others and asking, “Does she always talk like this?”

  “Sometimes she sleeps,” said Velveteen.

  Tag snorted a laugh, covering it with his hand.

  Velveteen hesitated. The others would go along with whatever she decided to do. Talking to the lawyer first might be the right thing to do, but if there was any chance at all that they could resolve this without turning it into a three-ring circus…

  “All right,” she said. “Take us to your leader.”

  Firecracker smirked.

  The mini-van sent by The Super Patriots, Inc. was perfectly balanced between extravagance and practicality. The seats were plush black leather, and a mini-fridge was set into either side, offering an assortment of snacks, energy drinks, and alcoholic beverages. At the same time, the windows were bullet-proof glass, and the ultra-absorbent shocks meant that they could drive over any terrain in the world without feeling a thing. It was perfect for the transport of socialites and the direly wounded, and made no distinctions between them.

  “They sure don’t believe in being subtle,” drawled the Princess, and swatted at the bluebirds tha
t were trying to restyle her hair. Her ball gown had changed at some point since they entered the van, turning pink and gold, with an ocean of ruffles. “Come on now, shoo. I need to look professional, and birdies don’t help.”

  “We don’t agree to anything,” said Velveteen, cracking the tab on an energy drink. She didn’t want to take anything The Super Patriots, Inc. was offering her, but she was so tired. She was afraid that if she tried to stand on her principles, she’d wind up falling on her face. “No matter what they say, no matter what they offer, we don’t agree.”

  “Not even if they offer to return her to us?” asked Victory Anna. The aching need in her voice made names unnecessary.

  Velveteen nodded grimly. “There will be strings, and those strings will strangle us,” she said. “We find out what they’re willing to give. We take notes. We learn exactly what they think they’re going to get out of this exchange. And then we go to our lawyer, we explain the situation, and we get Sparkle Bright back without cutting our own throats in the process.”

  “What if we can’t?” asked Tag. All four women turned to look at him. “I’m just saying what we’re all wondering. She has a contract. Unless we’re willing to go to court to prove that The Super Patriots, Inc. has been using mind-control to get their adult heroes to sign—”

  “—which they have, and which we are,” said Velveteen.

  “They won’t let that happen,” said Jackie. “I know a little something about labor law, okay? All those elves. They unionized a century ago.” She rolled her eyes as the others stared at her. “Do you people think I spend all my time doing my nails and plotting to ruin your lives? Don’t answer that. Anyway, the crux of the matter is this: The Super Patriots, Inc. has a vested interest in keeping those contracts legal. If we go to court, they could all be invalidated, and the laws about using mind-control on superhumans who haven’t committed any known acts of villainy could change. They’re not going to let things go that far.” She turned toward the pane of mirrored glass that separated them from the driver’s cabin. “Isn’t that right, Match Girl?”